


Shame The Devil

by tsiviaravina



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Blindfolds, Dom Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Porn, Established Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, F/M, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Possessive Lucifer, Smut, Sub Chloe Decker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 12:31:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18052547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsiviaravina/pseuds/tsiviaravina
Summary: Everyone has needed something from Chloe lately.Thankfully, Lucifer has his ways of meeting Chloe's needs.





	Shame The Devil

**Author's Note:**

> I realize this might not be everyone's cup of tea. Please mind the tags.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING! I am playing in the Lucifer (TV) sandbox for a while.
> 
> Song: "Possession", by Sarah McLachlan

> _Listen as the wind blows_
> 
> _From across the great divide_
> 
> _Voices trapped in yearning_
> 
> _Memories trapped in time_

Today has been beyond hard.

Everyone has needed something from her.

Trixie.

Dan.

Ella.

Lucifer has been uncharacteristically silent and watchful.

So she watches him.

And waits for her phone to vibrate against her thigh.

 

***

 

> _The night is my companion_
> 
> _And solitude my guide_
> 
> _Would I spend forever here_
> 
> _And not be satisfied..._

She drives to Lux, dressed how he tells her to dress. The sleek, long, backless,  _white_ sundress and strappy silver heels that make her run her own hands over her own body in satisfaction when she looks at herself in the mirror.

Her hair blown straight, then pinned up. Makeup to accent eyes, cheeks, lips. Body glitter because he likes the way it reflects light off her shoulders, her breasts, and the curve of her spine, all made so much more inviting, enticing, when she dances as bright as a candle's flame amidst all the black in Lux.

She dances, her body soon covered in a sheen of sweat. She dances with men, with women, putting herself on display for him.

She dances for him, _only_  for him, and waits—waits for him to find her.

> _And I would be the one_
> 
> _To hold you down_
> 
> _Kiss you so hard_
> 
> _I'll take your breath away_
> 
> _And after, I'd wipe away the tears_
> 
> _Just close your eyes, dear..._

She knows he's coming; people part to let him pass. No one is foolish enough to get in the way between Lucifer and his chosen mate.

She catches a glimpse of him watching her.

No suit jacket or waistcoat tonight. Just one of those white shirts of his with the sleeves rolled up, his arms wiry with muscle, the collar unbuttoned one more button than necessary. Black pants held up with a familiar, supple belt that makes her lick her lower lip.

The stubble on his face that will mark her everywhere.

His eyes, black as the stone in his ring in the dim light of the club, flash knowingly at her.

He watches her dance, performing for him, alone now on her portion of the dance floor. He watches the muscles in her back, arms, and shoulders move under her skin, her eyes closed.

> _Through this world I've stumbled_
> 
> _So many times betrayed_
> 
> _Trying to find an honest word_
> 
> _To find the truth enslaved_

He steps up behind her, slipping an arm around her waist, effortlessly moving with her. The one white rose he carries makes her shiver when he strokes it down the channel of her spine. One movement of his fingers and the rose is tucked safely away in her upswept hair.

He kisses the beads of sweat from the back of her neck and she moans.

Her ass brushes against the hard weight of his cock in his trousers. He brings his other hand down to her hip, feeling her pelvis pass smoothly under his hands.

> _Oh, you speak to me in riddles and_
> 
> _You speak to me in rhymes_
> 
> _My body aches to breathe your breath_
> 
> _Your words keep me alive..._

"I could take you, right here...or, rather up against that wall there, isn't that true, darling? And you would let me. Tell the truth and shame, well, _me_ , Chloe."

Oh, his voice in her ear, low, vibrating, predatory, possessive. On these nights, she is  _his_. She's not "Detective".

On these nights she becomes "darling"..."sweetheart"...

... _Chloe_.

_(i won't let you)_

"Hmmm? Could I?"

_(father will just have to wait for you)_

He draws her hands up behind her, wrapping them around his neck so he can run his hands from her hips to her ribs, just brushing underneath her breasts.

She rests the back of her head against his shoulder and answers him.

"Yes."

> _And I would be the one_
> 
> _To hold you down_
> 
> _Kiss you so hard_
> 
> _I'll take your breath away_
> 
> _And after, I'd wipe away the tears_
> 
> _Just close your eyes, dear..._

He chuckles into her ear. "Good girl." He presses one hand against the firmness of her stomach and lets the other hand trace over her hip. " _Very_ good girl. No panties?"

"No," she gasps as he suckles sharply on her earlobe, his tongue playing with the small silver hoop there. He hums in approval.

"Wet for me yet, sweetheart?"

She rolls her hips back into the hardness and the heat of him.

"Yes," she hisses.

He unlocks her hands from behind his neck so he can spin her around to face him, her eyes closed and her body swaying slightly. He waits until she opens her eyes before slipping his thigh in between hers, one hand at the small of her back and the other tilting her face upwards. 

She pants slightly in anticipation.

He brings his mouth down to brush against hers as he moves his thigh in and up, holding her tightly to him so he can taste the high keening sounds she makes for him.

"Come, darling. Come with me."

He always lets her choose, even now, whether to abandon herself to him.

She looks up at him and nods. 

He offers his arm and she takes it as they walk towards the elevator.

Never once has she refused him.

 

***

 

> _Into this night I wander_
> 
> _It's morning that I dread_
> 
> _Another day of knowing of_
> 
> _The path I fear to tread_

On these nights, he locks the elevator.

The penthouse holds shadows in every corner, soft and soothing. 

She closes her eyes and sighs with relief as he removes her dress and her heels, leaving her naked but for the quicksilver flashes of glitter still left on her body.

He takes care of her, urging her to drink much needed cool water through the straw he places to her lips. He holds her in his lap and feeds her pieces of fresh fruit by hand: plump, hulled strawberries, raspberries and blackberries that are so ripe that they burst against the slightest pressure from her tongue. White peaches, light and sweet. Orange slices that are pieces of sunshine. Red grapes filled with juice.

She sucks his fingers clean, twirling her tongue around them as he laughs indulgently.

Eventually, he leads her to the bed, her hands working at the buttons on his shirt, her impatience increasing with the amount of moisture on her inner thighs.

"Patience, darling," he tells her while running his fingertips over her breasts and between her legs. He tumbles them onto the bed, arching his body above hers, keeping their bodies apart while he kisses her breathless.

> _Oh, into the sea of waking dreams_
> 
> _I follow without pride_
> 
> _'Cause nothing stands between us here_
> 
> _And I won't be denied..._

On these nights, his patience seems infinite and his tenderness infuriating. He wants her to want, to _desire._

He has spent the day watching her cater to the needs of others before her own.

She never asks him. But he always knows when she needs help in laying her self-imposed burdens aside.

He coaxes her into the world he creates for her step by patient step. 

Beyond anger.

Beyond fear.

Always beyond self-loathing.

He rolls her over on to her stomach, massaging lotion scented with gardenia into her skin: he starts at the nape of her neck, then smooths it over her shoulder blades and across the long muscles in her back. The twin globes of her ass. Her arms. Her legs. Finally her hands and feet.

Only then will he urge her onto her back.

He holds up his belt, questioning her with his eyes.

"Green," she tells him.

"Cross your wrists over your head," he tells her.

She does, then watches as he wraps the belt carefully over and around her crossed wrists. When he finishes, she gives an experimental tug; there's just enough give to the strap of leather binding her wrists, but not enough for her to get free.

Once she knows this, her heartbeat accelerates and she tries to calm her breathing.

The feeling is never fear or apprehension or anxiety. It is the feeling that it's _wrong_ for her to be here; it's _wrong_ for her to want this _._

She bites her lip and closes her eyes. She starts to fight the belt binding her wrists. She can feel his eyes on her and she can feel the blood rush to her cheeks. Why she has to fight herself every time, she doesn't understand.

No, the truth is, she _does_ understand: she believes that she shouldn't _want_ this; she shouldn't _need_ this; she shouldn't gain _pleasure_ from this.

It's the worst kind of shame.

She turns her face away from him.

He gently turns it back.

"Shh..." he hushes her when two tears trickle down her face. He carefully wipes them away and she leans into the touch.

"Tell me what you need, darling," he says.

"The blindfold," she whispers around the tears in the back of her throat. 

Eyes still closed, she feels him roll over on the bed and hears him open a drawer. Then he's carefully tying a length of black silk around her eyes. As the world goes even darker around her, she calms, her heartbeat steadies and her breathing slows.

"Good girl," he whispers against her wrist. "Anything else, darling?"

"Just...touch me?" she asks. "I've been alone all day. I missed you."

He understands; her day has been filled with people and activity, but nothing that she _needed_.

What she needs is to be worshipped simply for existing.

Too much take; not enough give.

He slips out of his trousers, letting them fall into the darkness beside the bed.

He positions her in the center of the bed, a pillow under her hips. He kneels between her thighs and simply looks at her.

"You should see yourself...all spread out for me...ready for me." She whimpers at his words, bites her lower lip.

She's gold and ivory against the black of her bindings, the black of the sheets, except where her legs are spread apart. He uses the tip of one finger to trace the wet, pink, velvet skin there, watching how her hips tremble at his touch.

He wants to be selfish, wants to be sheathed in her to the hilt, fucking her senseless, but that's the finale.

He'll settle for devouring her.

He lays between her thighs and inhales, her scent something that he wishes he could bottle. He licks one long strip along her center with the flat of his tongue, stopping at the end to draw her folds into his mouth. 

_"Lucifer!"_

He holds her open with his thumbs to drink her in. His tongue flutters deep inside her and there is only heat and wetness and the sounds falling out of her mouth: pleading and cursing and prayers that have nothing to do with his Father.

She knows by now that He has no place here with them, with what they do.

Her hips strain frantically against his mouth until he grabs them in his hands, rolling his tongue against her clit and sucking it into his mouth with a steady pressure that gives her the first—and hardest-won—orgasm of the night.

> _And I would be the one_
> 
> _To hold you down_
> 
> _Kiss you so hard_
> 
> _I'll take your breath away_
> 
> _And after, I'd wipe away the tears_
> 
> _Just close your eyes, dear..._

He moves swiftly and deftly, removing the blindfold and unwrapping the belt from around her wrists. She cries, always cries after she comes for the first time on these nights.

She curls up into a ball on the bed and he wraps himself around her, protecting and defending her from anything or anyone that might hurt her while she purges her heart and her mind. 

Each time, she cries a bit less.

She eventually sits up, wiping her eyes free of makeup and tears with the wet cloth he hands her. He makes her smile when he takes over, fussing about "so-called waterproof makeup". She drinks from another bottle of water, and her eyes spark mischievously. 

His spark deviously. 

He leaps; she dodges. She is slender, small, swift, and trained in hand-to-hand; he has height, reach, strength, and (to her, unknown) millennia of fighting experience. She knows he humors her by letting her squirm out and roll away from his grasp; his growls and her giggles fill the penthouse until he grabs her by an ankle and yanks her under him and she's breathing hard, but doesn't resist.

"Lucifer."

Her voice is softer than before as she runs one hand through his hair and scratches gently at his stubble with the other. He finds himself her willing captive, prisoner to the way her hips shift and her thighs spread to cradle him.

"Lucifer. So beautiful," she breathes. She cradles his face in her hands, bringing him in for a kiss of open-mouthed glory, tongues dancing, tasting, exploring. He balances himself on his forearms, listening to her moan as his chest brushes her breasts.

He rolls his hips, his cock hard and waiting this whole time, nestled against her. Her head falls back, mouth open and eyes closed. 

"What do you need, Chloe?"

She licks her lips and opens her eyes. She drapes her arms around his neck and brings her legs up around his waist. "What I _desire_ most in this life is for you to fuck me, to make me come until I can't remember my name—until I can only remember _yours_."

"You had but to ask, darling," he tells her.

She reaches down to stroke his cock with her fingertips, deliberately teasing. "Don't look so smug," she laughs as he moans. 

He retaliates by easing two fingers into her, pressing in and up gently but rhythmically, his mouth fastened on her neck, pressing down with his hips, knowing that, at this angle, his cock will massage her clit. 

This time, her moans and cries don't contain words.

"I think I can make you come once more this way, darling," he whispers raggedly in her ear. 

"Please," she manages to gasp. She's pressing her hips up against his, her nails sinking into his shoulders, and her little breathy moans are becoming louder and louder. She wants this, she needs this, she's _earned_ this—this pleasure that doesn't have to be quiet or furtive, but fast and hard and long and loud.

His cock's length is soaked with her juices and its head bumps her clit at every stroke until she's writhing underneath him, clenching around his fingers. 

"Now! Please, please, now!"

Three times he presses into her with the full force of his body behind him. Three times he curls his fingers up inside her. She comes so intensely that he waits for her muscles to relax so he can pull his fingers out of her without hurting her.

Her body sinks back into the pillows with soft sighs of pleasure. When she opens her eyes and looks at him, she simply says:

"Fuck me. _Please,_ Lucifer."

He groans; that simple phrase is his undoing.

"I don't know if I can be gentle, darling."

She just looks back at him, her eyes filled with love and trust. "I don't need 'gentle'. I need _you,"_ she tells him softly, reaching up to stroke his cheek.

He moans and kisses her palm before holding her hips at just the right angle for him to enter her. She tilts her hips for him to make it easier for him to slide himself inside her.

One firm stroke and he's home, enveloped in white heat. And she says  _he_ runs hot.

She arches her back and thrusts her hips up to meet him.

She hums in sybaritic bliss and locks her thighs around his waist, just above his hips.

Now there is nothing that matters but heat, her slickness, and the frantic roll of their hips, still managing to keep a steady rhythm. He keeps both of her wrists pinned above her head with one large hand and balances his weight on his other forearm. 

By some miracle, he doesn't miss a single stroke.

"Chloe..." he gasps over her, thrusting deeper into her with each roll of his hips.

"Lucifer," she manages to say in return.

_"Lucifer."_

He arches into her fast and hard, doing as she desires, fucking her so the only word she can remember is his name, which she cries out over and over. He finally releases her wrists so he can wrap an arm around her hips.

"Come for me, darling. Come for me," he orders from above her. She whimpers and reaches down to flick her clit back and forth with two fingers. 

It doesn't occur to her to disobey.

She comes with his name still on her lips. He curses and somehow drives into her even harder, even deeper.

He feels her arms slide up around his shoulders, where she clings to him as he slams himself into her. She finds the energy within her to clench her inner walls around him, feeling them grip his cock and hearing him moan wordlessly. 

"Chloe...Chloe..." he pants, desperate to hold onto his control until he feels the ripple of her inner muscles grip him tightly, and he hears his name echoing around the room once more. Only then does he grab her hips and finally comes, buried deep inside her.

 

***

 

Much later, after water and whiskey, after a gentle rainfall of a shower to wash the sweat and the fluids of their lovemaking away, and after feeding each other the last of the fruit, they curl up together in the center of the bed, both sated, for the moment.

"Thank you," she whispers to him.

"Thank you for taking care of me."

His eyes, dark and fathoms deep, trace the curves and shadows of her face. "You're mine, darling. I'll always take care of you, Chloe."

He presses a kiss to her forehead. "Now rest," he tells her. "The night has barely begun for you," he says, kissing her softly, making a shelter of the space between his side and his arm where she can nestle in and doze off while he plans out the remainder of the night in his head. 

> _And I would be the one_
> 
> _To hold you down_
> 
> _Kiss you so hard_
> 
> _I'll take your breath away_
> 
> _And after, I'd wipe away the tears_
> 
> _Just close your eyes..._

**Author's Note:**

> Author's PSA: This is meant as a work of fiction, to be read and enjoyed. It is NOT a "How-To" Guide in any way, shape or form. There are many, many *reputable* works on Dominance/submission and BDSM out there to be found in books, in blogs, on websites, etc. If you enjoyed the fic and are interested in the emotional, personal, and physical dynamics described within, I urge you to find those authors and those sites.


End file.
